America – I Am Barb Lee

The Little Cactus That Could

I talk about some pretty heavy duty subjects around here: cancer survival, loss, family woes, struggle. So I think maybe it’s time for me to write something a little more lighthearted, about a Little Cactus That Could. And did.

Before I tell my story I have to admit that there are a couple of things wrong with this title that I should point out. First of all, I only chose it because it’s catchy and reminded me of a children’s book we had at home, called “The Little Engine That Could.” For you see, the cactus in question really isn’t so little. And the only reason that it could and did, is because of crazy old me and my will to make it do those things. Because unlike the aforementioned little engine, the cactus, though round, doesn’t have wheels, or a train whistle, or even tracks on which to travel. But The Little Cactus That Could did have wings, if you want to use your imagination.

Confused?

Meet the cactus in question:

Okay, okay, we clearly have another problem here. I’m not completely sure, but I think that this is a hunk of a Joshua tree, also known as the Yucca brevifolia, and a member of the Agave family. So it isn’t even a cactus, at least until you practically tear your hands off to stick it into a bag so that you can then try to stuff it into your suitcase…

Whoa! I’m getting way ahead of myself! I’d better stop here and backpedal to a few days before the suitcase scene…

It was a frigid day in Las Vegas, windy, with the highway to Death Valley threatened with snow. The storm forced me to change my plans for the day, to do a short local hike on the edge of Red Rock Canyon. Here’s what the view looked like when I got there:

Yeah, the snow was a bit too close for my liking, and it was damn cold with a swirling wind. But intrepid adventurer that I am (insert winking emoji!) I was going to do that hike if it killed me! So off I went. And that’s when I saw my cactus. Or Joshua tree baby. Or whatever it is. Note to self: pick that thing up on the way back. That anomaly that looks like a desert sunflower. I’ve been bringing home cool stuff from the desert for decades, but I’ve never found anything like the Little Cactus That Could. I was mesmerized!

A lot more mesmerized than I was with my hike. I gave it my best shot. But that snow was too close; it was bitterly cold and the gusts were just about gusting me over. After a half mile, I had to turn back. And there was my little burst of sun waiting for me. Yet as much as I wanted it, and I knew it would be a great and interesting addition to my new home, I started to procrastinate. Maybe I shouldn’t take it. My suitcase was already full with hiking stuff. I had not brought a second bag like I sometimes did when bringing boots and poles and backpacks. I’d probably just have to leave it behind, like an abandoned child.

I took it anyway, put it in the trunk of the car to deal with later. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

A few more days of more successful hiking ensued, and then it was time to pack to go home. The Little Cactus That Could lurked whenever I opened the trunk. Now, it was sink, swim…or fly? Just throw it in the bushes, I tried to tell myself. It’ll tear Muffin (my bunny) up if he gets anywhere near it, I reasoned. And yet, I put it in a Walmart bag and brought it up to my room.

It’s tradition that I repack my suitcase the night before I leave for home. This time, I had to try and get this damn spiny thing in between clothes and supplies. First, I had to put it in something that would make it less sharp, otherwise I’d have a bunch of ripped stuff when I got home. I always carry bags for food shopping, and it just so happens that the one I bring with me these days has a cactus print! It was just barely big enough to house my new accessory, and I got a few injuries getting it in there, but it worked. Lopsided for sure, and still poking through the fabric, but definitely better.

I’d bought some dresses for my sister Jeanne, a few things for myself, some small presents for my niece. And as already mentioned, I’d only brought one bag for my week of hiking. I knew in my heart that even if I managed to somehow get this un-little desert delight in my suitcase that it either wouldn’t close or it would get destroyed on the way home. And if the TSA happened to open the bag for a random check, someone was going to get hurt. My carry-on is always a backpack and is full of medication, camera equipment, and food, so that wasn’t an option. But here was the new conflict: we’d arrived at this point together and I just couldn’t imagine leaving my new sidekick. It was crunch time.

There was only one way this thing was getting to Massachusetts: it had to go on the plane with me. Which brought up a whole new slew of issues! A) What if the TSA officers think I’m bringing it as a weapon? B) What if they consider it like food or liquid, and throw it out because it weighs too much? C) What if they just think I’m nuts for bringing this thing to the airport and trying to smuggle it through security? I concocted excuses for all of them, not really caring if they thought I was nuts or if they tossed it out. Naturally, I was concerned about them thinking I’m a criminal wanting to tear up my fellow passengers with the Little Cactus That Could. But I decided I would just shrug and say that I was only bringing it home to decorate my new house. I’m a trusted traveler, have TSA precheck, Global Entry, all that stuff. My passport is well-stamped, without a single hitch. I tried to convince myself that it would be okay, one way or the other.

I slept well that night, and got up very early to fly. Dropped my rental off, got the shuttle to the airport. Overstuffed suitcase: check. Backpack: check. Barely legal cactus-print bag held cautiously away from body so as not to get pinched: check.

The Southwest Airlines rep had no clue she was looking at a possible criminal. The big guy waving me into the precheck line wasn’t savvy to what was in the nondescript white bag. The officer who handed me back my passport was unaware that an arrest might soon happen. Now, the moment of truth had arrived. The white bag went on the belt to be scanned. My excuse was ready. I had tweaked, reviewed, and memorized it.

I walked through the body scanner, then waited at the other end of the bag scanner for my stuff. Tense. Shifty-eyed. Worried. And out came the Little Cactus That Could as if nothing was wrong, while I tried to envision what it looked like on the scanner screen as it rolled through. Like a pointy bomb. A jagged, multi-blade knife. Something never seen before by TSA agents. Waiting with bated breath to be stopped, I snatched my stuff off the belt and split. No one followed me.

The Little Cactus That Could had just made it through United States airport security.

Said cactus continued to move toward Massachusetts. I warned the flight attendant that I had something in my bag that might hurt someone if they tried to shove their carry-on into the overhead past it. She was not interested. I petitioned my nearby passengers not to push the white cactus bag in the overhead with a bare hand. They were unconcerned. In fact, no one cared about the Little Cactus That Could. Except for me! I babied my new friend as we made our way from Las Vegas to Baltimore, then on to Windsor Locks, Connecticut. Through Bradley Airport. Onto another shuttle to my car. And finally, up I-91, across the Mass Pike, and over a few other roads to my little home.

What a journey!

Here’s the end result of a lot of hard work, and worrying!

A Hike for the Favorites List!

I’ve been lots of places and have done lots of hiking. 40+ countries, 50 states, 40+ national parks around the world. So it isn’t every day that I can say that I’ve done a hike that I consider one of the best I’ve ever done. It hasn’t happened in a while, as I’m sometimes drawn to going back to the same places (hello, Moab, Utah!) to do the same trails that are already on the list. That changed on the trip that I just returned from.

Before I reveal where I took all these incredible shots, let me offer my disclaimer for this post. You probably won’t find the usual choices on my list. You also won’t have to slog two hundred miles to complete one of the entries in my favor. My choices are not two thousand mile trails like “the Appalachian Trail” or “the Continental Divide Trail.” I find articles that site gargantuan trails ridiculous, and written by people who know nothing about hiking, who have clearly never completed the trails in question. I also get tired of the same long hikes on every list, like “the Milford Track” in New Zealand. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that all the hikes I’ve mentioned are incredible. I’ve experienced parts of some of them. But they’re general suggestions, not specific. The hikes on my list are specific and can be done in a day, some in a couple of hours. The one pictured here took two hours, and packed more of a punch than many that I’ve spent days and days discovering.

Where is this trail? Valley of Fire State Park, sixty miles north of Las Vegas, which looks like a national park. We’re talking Nevada, USA, and close to a major city and tourist attraction. I had been here two other times, and thought it was time to go back. In spite of some pretty crazy weather during my week in Sin City, I got a perfect day for hiking, just no sun or blue sky, which would have made for even better pictures!

I had already done the Fire Wave Trail on my last visit. Here’s a picture of me from 2015:

And here’s me this year:

The scenery hasn’t changed much. But the hiker sure has!

This is an easy trail to find, as it is right off the Parking #3 lot. It’s also simple to follow, as it is a one trail deal down to the Fire Wave. The change in scenery along the way is incredible! First, massive walls of red Aztec sandstone beckon from ahead, with soft green mounds of limestone in the foreground. Christmas colors for hikers! Where can you say that you’ve seen red and green rocks, and in the same place?

Once past the rocks, the whole landscape changes to red and white striped sandstone underfoot with pastel sandstone views of aptly named Pink Canyon in the near distance. After a short and mildly steep descent, the Fire Wave comes into view, with a smaller mound next to it. Turn in a three-sixty and just marvel at your surroundings!

Most people choose to do an out and back on this trail. But if you want to do the Seven Wonders Loop, which I’ve come to understand was just opened to the public in 2021, you can proceed to the bottom of the wavy rocks to this sign, and continue on:

Things get a little less obvious once you hit this trail, and they get worse as you go along. But don’t let that stop you! I latched on to a family and another solitary lady (from Germany!) to figure out how to do this loop. We figured it out as a team. Also be warned that a few of the slot canyons, which are normally part of the trail, had to be hiked around because of flooding. The incredible photo opportunities made the extra hiking well worth it! I call views like this “National Geographic material.”

Once you have gone around the water keep in mind that you will have to cross the park road to finish the loop. You will also have to climb back to the parking lot. If you’re really worried you can always take the road, which is plenty scenic, but the stunning terrain you’ll miss will make you want to take the chance of getting a little off track now and then. Don’t expect cairns like on many established trails in the American West (because there are often no trees to put blazes on!) but metal markers can be found along the way. Keep following the general path of the road and you will make it back to the lot without too much trouble. And you’ll see this jaw-dropping stuff along the way:

Seven Wonders? I vote to change the trail name to “A Thousand Wonders Trail!”

An extra added plus: the park was loaded with mountain goats that day!

For more on my favorite hikes, click here!

Don’t Rush Me

The eye of the storm. That’s where I was for decade upon decade. Life was seemingly calm, but in reality I was surrounded by thunder and lightning and high winds and debris, all ready to take me down unexpectedly at any moment. I was a moving target. The butt of sick jokes and harassment. The subject on everyone’s lips. Running running, running. And trying to hide from prying eyes.

That’s all over now. I’ve found peace, and silence. But the real world is never far enough away.

My cocoon is the retirement community I recently moved to. It’s located off a busy state highway. I’m way up in the back, away from it all, with a farm behind me and wildlife trotting and winging through my yard. Yet I only have to leave the premises in order to get a quick reminder that the uncivilized world awaits, and that the inhabitants are in a tremendous rush to go absolutely nowhere. Well, world, I will not be rushed by you anymore. I’ve earned my slow stripes. Please, pass me by as fast as you wish, and go along your silly, speedy ways. Put away your middle fingers, switch your low beams back on, and just GO.

My feelings about humanity’s need for speed is well documented, no big secret. What I don’t quite get, and never will, is what the gain is, and why people have to jeopardize the safety of others in order to satisfy their own stupidity.

Case in point: I left the retirement community the other day, and within thirty seconds, even though I looked both ways before I pulled out, I had a speeding white car on my back bumper. This, in total disregard of the fact that the speed limit falls ten digits where I pull onto the state highway, and it goes from a two lane divided raceway to a one lane regular road. A messy road construction job with barrels and lane shifts is right up ahead, with a greatly reduced speed limit. No way I’m driving through that too fast. Mr. White Car had no such qualms. On a solid line, he blew past me effortlessly and ploughed through the road construction without applying the brakes once.

Not far up the road and I’m minding my business driving forty-five in a forty-five. Someone cuts me off from a side road and proceeds to drive thirty-five. Before I’m driving for ten minutes I’ve been cut off three more times. But here’s the kicker: Mr. White Car Wanna Be Race Care Driver? Mr. Tailgater? I end up right behind him at the next stop light. What has he gained? Answer: nothing. Except for endangering his life and those around him.

Don’t rush me.

Next, I pull up to the ATM and start getting my card out of my wallet. I’m ready to open my car door and step up to the machine when a man pulls into the lot next to me, jumps out of his car, and strides toward the glass door ahead of me. Too bad for him that he has to fumble through his wallet to open the damn thing because in his rush to beat me to the money he didn’t have his card ready. Is it terrible for me to wish that he’s one of those people who has no money to take out in the first place, and that he will stomp out saying that the machine is “broken?”

And hey, what ever happened to “ladies first?”

My favorite is when someone is blinding me with their headlights only to pull into Dunkin Donuts and into a snaking line in the drive through. (And no one is inside!) Enjoy your coffee, dummy.

It’s not all about the way we drive. There are the shoppers in the supermarket sighing because I don’t put my food on the belt fast enough, or swipe my debit card skillfully enough, or move my cart out of the aisle exactly when they want me to. They start getting testy, I start making eye contact. And I am the queen of eye contact. I’m a teacher by trade. I can stare anyone down. Don’t tempt me.

Or rush me.

Believe it or not folks, not everyone feels the need to save thirty seconds to get to a stop light before someone else. Listen to John Lennon’s song “Watching the Wheels.” If a Beatle can stop playing the game, can’t just about anyone?

The bigger picture is that so many of us have stopped being polite, have stopped caring about anyone but number one, have stopped caring about much of anything, including safety and common sense and life.

No wonder I like my little retirement community so much. I’m thankful to have an escape from the nonsense.

And remember, if we ever meet, you can do anything as quickly as you want, but DON’T RUSH ME.

An Open Love Letter to Utah

Dear Utah,

I remember clearly when we met: the year was 1995, I was with my beloved mom, and we were driving cross country for the second time. The year before we had cut our teeth with a 9,400 miler that inexplicably, did not include a trip through your glory. Yes, there were many other glories, but maybe not quite like yours. This particular trip had a catch: I had just purchased a little bright pink car that we would leave in Southern California once I found someplace to live there. That was my biggest dream leading up to 1995: living in California, and I lived it for five years. But that’s another story for another day, and it’s a long story, for my love affair with California continues. At times, it even competes for my attentions that I usually reserve for you. Believe me, this is not a slight to you, my love. It just IS.

Well, how do you like that! In writing this letter to speak my appreciation, I realize that I have things a bit wrong. 1995 was not the first time I saw you, it was the first time, perhaps, that I REALLY saw you. Mom and me actually drove up to Zion from Vegas in 1993 and stayed a couple of days. Just a little sneak peek at your well known red rock magnificence, and yes, we were impressed. But as I said, 1995 was the deal sealer. As only a road tripper knows, the power to choose where you go and for how long, to have the time to marvel at the color of the rocks in Glen Canyon and wonder how a strip of I-70 can be more beautiful than seventy-five percent of the rest of Planet Earth, will do it. Love at first sight, and forever love at second. And third. And fourth. And…Whew!!

Records indicate that I didn’t make it back to you until 2008 (how can this be?!) and even then, I only flew into Salt Lake City to drive north into other states. Still, I remember that I was pleasantly surprised by random findings along the way.

Listen, I know what I was doing: I was beginning to explore the world outside of this country, and I was completing the tall task of visiting all 50 states in my domestic travels. I also buried Mom, my best friend and greatest traveling partner (sigh) in 2004, so I was cutting my teeth as a solo traveler and really, just trying to figure out who I was.

And then, a big event took place in 2009: I started hiking. That’s when things started to get serious. Still, the slam dunk didn’t happen until 2013, when I spent two and a half weeks hiking all five National Parks in your awe inspiring southern extremities. Zion, Bryce, Capitol Reef, Canyonlands, Arches. While I loved them all (of course!) one emerged as my favorite, and remains thus: Canyonlands. Even as I chip away at hiking ALL the National Parks in the United States, I just can’t keep away from Canyonlands. Doing the same hikes time after time in Canyonlands. Dreaming of Canyonlands. Not enough time in a lifetime to get enough of Canyonlands. Did I mention I love Canyonlands? 😉

For me, the only other place in Utah that comes close to Canyonlands is Glen Canyon. That narrow strip of excitement between Hanksville and Blanding. Yes, that part of Glen Canyon. The Dirty Devil River. Bridge over the Colorado. Hite Overlook. I take the same darn pictures every time. And I don’t care.

Oh, don’t even get me going!

2017, 2018, 2019, 2021, 2022. COVID19 was the only thing that stopped me from being there in 2020. Our reunion in 2021 was unbelievable, because you see, I found out I had cancer in the autumn of 2019, and guess where I was a month earlier? And the thought of never seeing you again was unbearable.

Cancer sucks. Needles, scans, bad news, one step forward, two steps back. But as I became a pro at all of it, I realized that I had a pretty great defense mechanism: memory. Because of memory I didn’t have to think of scans when I was having scans. I could think instead of all the amazing places I’ve had the incredible fortune of exploring. And, you guessed it: I spent a heck of a lot of time in Utah when I was lying in some MRI beast two thousand miles away. How can I ever thank you for that?

I can’t. But I’ll try anyway, by giving you my continued patronage for as long as I have left in this life.

See you soon, my love.

About Traveling

Hey, this will be my last post for a few weeks. Vacation time is nearly here, and I’m heading back out on the road again. Which makes this the perfect time to write about one of my favorite subjects, for the first time in a while: Traveling!

I always find it so weird when people make it sound like there is some “right” way to travel. That you, as the subject, have to travel in some certain way to be a “traveler” and not a “tourist.” That there is some time frame that you have to spend in a place to make it worth your while and to satisfy others that you successfully “saw” something or somewhere. That one person’s way of traveling is superior to another person’s way of traveling. Last thing I knew, travel was supposed to be fun, like an ice cream sundae, with a learning experience on top, like a shiny red cherry, if you so choose to have one. Then again, maybe a trip is simply an escape from the rat race.

Social media is full of “influencers” who will have you believe that their way of traveling is not only better than yours, but that it’s easy and they’ll show you how to be like them, for a price. You can trot the globe while taking odd jobs like bartending and teaching English as a Second Language. Thanks, I got over working in bars when I was twenty-five, and I teach people’s kids every day and love sending them home at 2:15pm, no questions asked. I like my good paying job with paid vacations. I’d pay to see pictures of those “influencers” doing one of their real jobs in between the glossy shots from the pristine mountain top in New Zealand and the beach in Mexico. I want to see the “influencer” mixing a White Russian and looking picture perfect. Really.

Thank goodness for the unfollow button! I recently had to use it on one of the better known globe trotters that I had been following for a couple of years, because she was being pretty insulting to someone else’s way of life. What the heck happened to live and let live?

The other thought that I don’t agree with is that in order to travel in a worthwhile way you have to go to a foreign country. Make no mistake, I love exploring places outside the United States. I’ve done more than my fair share. But in a pinch, and let’s face it, we’ve been in quite a pinch since March of 2020, I’d take a road trip to the American West above all other traveling. I’ve ticked off forty plus countries thus far and have every intention of ticking off more in my own fashion once I deem it safe for me, but give me that road trip every time. It should come as no surprise that I’m heading to the American West this next trip too! I can’t WAIT!!

Here’s a secret about me that makes me different than the garden variety social media travel giant: I love coming home and I love being home, too. The pandemic gave me an excuse to stick close to home and explore my own backyard more. I always said that “someday” I’d do that more and, well, I didn’t expect cancer and COVID19 to give me the opportunity, but I’ve had a heck of a good time! I’ve always scoured New England in between bigger trips, but not like I have in the past two years. In my favorite movie of all time, Dorothy Gale went to great lengths to find out that her heart was in her own backyard. My heart is still and always will be in the American West, but New England is pretty cool too.

Before my cancer diagnosis I spent the better part of twenty years earning my keep as a special education teacher and traveling on school vacations. Maybe taking an extra day or two on either side to make my time away longer, or even escaping on a long weekend. Now that I haven’t done it for a couple of years I realize that it was exactly the way I wanted to travel. Make my money, pay for a trip, enjoy where I was without having to worry about work, and come home to earn money for more fun. After my diagnosis and through the COVID19 storm I continued my exploration as best as I could. Slowly, I’m getting my travel life back on track, though I’ve decided I want to do things and see places that I didn’t take the time to do and see before. Cruises and islands are of high interest, while twenty hour flights to the other side of the world are not really a priority. Oh, and more road trips, of course! Always more road trips!

In short, the Bucket List is officially made. It was time.

And so, I continue to explore as I see fit, and I am unapologetic.

Travel and let travel.

Dear Mr. Truck Driver…

See? I got your attention. Now you think that I’m about to give my opinion on the trucker convoys in Canada and the U.S. However, that isn’t the focus of my blog. Instead, I’m going to write about a recent experience I had with a trucker on the the Massachusetts Turnpike, otherwise known as I-90, locally known as “the Pike.” From my house due East, the Pike is a dull stretch of seventy miles of highway to Boston, and where bad behavior is at a maximum.

Before I zero in specifically on my good trucker buddy, let me first reiterate a frequent complaint of mine: Some people just lose their cotton picking minds when they get behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. Where does common sense go? I just don’t get it. It certainly seems that all anger, frustration, and power tripping is released on fellow drivers. Stupidity is at an all-time high. Messing with the lives of others becomes some sick game, all in the name of getting one car length ahead of someone else, or in a preferred lane before someone else does.

Okay, now let me tell the story of my favorite trucker in the world.

On Monday, March 14, 2022, I was heading to Boston for my monthly check-in at Dana Farber Cancer Institute. Yeah, you got it. I have cancer. I’m being treated for cancer. I’m not going to Beantown to party, or see the Red Sox, or to an art museum Truth is, I’d rather be working than going to Dana Farber Cancer Institute. I’m going because I have to. If I don’t go I’ll die. I’m tired on said day, and it’s early in the morning. I’m minding my own damn business, going 70 miles per hour in the center lane the way I always do. Other drivers fly by me, getting nowhere faster than me. I know that. They apparently don’t.

I pass a trucker going at a reasonable pace, and take note of it, because I like to see truckers who don’t think they own the road, who don’t think that just because they’re bigger they’re better. This 18-wheeler, from a company that will be named below, was inconspicuous, as all trucks and cars are until they do something off the wall. This one was a few minutes away from doing just that.

Back in the center lane after passing a few vehicles that were going a little slower than me, I settled in. Ten minutes go by, and suddenly Mr. Inconspicuous Trucker is right behind me flashing his lights at me. As a general rule and as a longtime driver with a clean record and hundreds of thousands of miles on all over the United States of America, I don’t allow other drivers, whether they’re bigger than me or not, to decide how fast I go or what lane I drive in. So I don’t budge, which only serves to piss off Mr. Trucker. My line of reasoning is this: There are two more lanes to move into. Use them if you don’t like my driving.

He doesn’t see things my way.

His next move is to start tooting at me and swerving. Then, the worst thing of all: Tailgating. In a tractor trailer truck that can’t stop quickly should I need to put on my brakes for something. But I held my ground, and so did he. I took out my phone and made a video going over my shoulder, showing the lights of this shithead glaring in my rear window, as well as how close he really was to me. Close enough for someone to reach out my back window and touch him.

I get it, you’re saying, just move for him! It’s your own fault for not moving! Here’s where we’re different. It’s against my principles to cater to a moron like this, particularly when I’m not doing anything wrong. And here’s the funny thing: He finally passed me, and then we got tangled up in stop and go traffic. So I had plenty of opportunities to take pictures of the company name and license plates, and Mr. Trucker got nowhere from his dangerous behavior. Just for good measure, he indulged in the ultimate in blameless behavior, and hung his phone out the window to take pictures of me. Imagine!

I eventually lost him, went to Dana Farber, and got all good news. But this experience sat heavily on my mind and still does.

Did I call Goulet Trucking in South Hadley, Massachusetts? Yes, after I read some pretty nasty reviews that indicate that this is a company that really doesn’t care what their truckers are doing. Daryl, the fellow I spoke to, didn’t seem too interested in me, but I asked him to tell my trucker friend some of the items I’ve already expressed above: I was going to Dana Farber. I have cancer. I was going for treatment. If I don’t go I’ll die. This already sucks enough. Why did he have to make the experience even suckier?

You never know who you’re messing with, what they’re dealing with, and how you’re making them feel.

I did the only thing I could. But I know that it won’t do a lick of good. Mr. Trucker will go out and terrorize someone else. Then someone else after that.

This experience brings up a point that surfaces more and more often now: When we’re blatantly mistreated, who can we really turn to if a clear crime has not been committed?

And the bigger question: Can we all just act like decent human beings instead of total brainless careless asshats?

POW!! FOLIAGE!!

If you’re one of those people that chase foliage from afar, I feel for you! As a veteran of attempting to predict, photograph, and schedule the best hikes around the changing of the leaves in New England, I can tell you that this is about the toughest gig in town. This year, even worse. Those loaded tour buses were likely long gone when the trees really started to pop with color in Massachusetts.

I did okay, but peak foliage in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, traditionally one of the hottest tickets in foliage town, and peak in Western Massachusetts, where I live, were a full three weeks apart, which is very uncommon. In fact, I had given up on the colors popping in my local area and then, BOOM! There it was! Crazy stuff!

Though I am merely an amateur photographer and don’t much aspire to be a professional, I still have thoughts about taking a good picture. In my humble (or not so humble?) opinion, fall foliage is the hardest thing to get a great shot of. Those calendar pages with fire engine reds and neon yellows are the work of Photoshop, not a great professional. Or, as I have come to say, “Nature doesn’t do that.” I think it’s quite unfortunate that we live in a world that alters reality to the point that when we see something naturally amazing, we aren’t amazed. How did this happen?

As someone who spends a lot of time outdoors in nature, I have learned to accept the natural world as it is, even if I don’t always capture it in its finest form. I do my best, and let memory take care of the rest. Autumn 2021 sure seemed like it was going to lack foliage memories, but it really turned out okay in the end!

The White Mountains were loaded with visitors, so busy that I had to forfeit a hike or two because of parking issues. Truth: There were so many leaf peepers around, I couldn’t even out hike them! Mind you, I’ve had the Grand Canyon and other national parks to myself by doing unpublicized trails with huge secret views. I thought I had outsmarted the general public a couple of times in old New Hampshire, but voices nearby soon proved me wrong. I’ve done the Whites two year in a row. Next year, I’ll head to some other nearby hills instead.

Know what the worst thing about foliage is? What follows it. Once the leaves are off the trees, I lose interest in the forests of New England. There isn’t anything too great about a naked maple and a frigid breeze slapping you in the face. Even snow is better than that! But what’s better than everything is the hope of spring. My sights are set on it.

California Reunion

Hey, if you don’t mind I’m going to take a break from talking about living with a chronic illness for a post or two. I have to tell you about my reunion with California!

This joyous reconnection with the Golden State was extra special because it came so frighteningly close to not happening. In fact, as I said in my last post, which I wrote while I was on the road, the trip got cancelled twice, the first time because of cancer, the second time because of COVID19. For weeks I was sure that once again something would stop me from going, that it wasn’t meant to be. It was so nice to be wrong! And the trip could not have been more perfect.

If you said that I’m kind of “prone” to hiking trips, you would not be mistaken. However, this wasn’t a hiking trip. Which is not to say that I didn’t do any trekking. Of course I did! But the entire plan was based around seeking out graffiti in Southern California and born from seeing the works of a professional photographer on Instagram who travels the U.S. taking pictures of really cool stuff. I did my research and strung several sights together, then figured that while I was there I may as well just take another week to see some old favorites, and there was my California reunion!

I lived in Los Angeles for five years from 1995 through 2000, and traveled extensively in and around the state. I guess I didn’t really realize until now how blessed I was and am to have been able to do that. It’s the only place I’ve ever lived other than Massachusetts, where I was born and currently reside, and I have to say that for me, a lover of the American West, there could not have been a better place to be. Mother Nature took one of everything amazing and tossed it into California. Sometimes, more that one of everything amazing. Though I’ve been a million other places around the world, I’ve never quite fallen in love with anywhere like I have the American West. I used to crucify myself for never having lived in a foreign country. How silly that all seems now.

Unlike most people, who think the desert is “too hot” and “boring”, I absolutely love it there. Deserts have ghost towns, tumbleweeds, and cactus. What’s not to love about that? I spent several days driving around the Salton Sea, an imposing but fascinating (and smelly) remnant of a failed experiment to lure vacationers and home buyers seeking the good life. If you’re like me and looking for graffiti, sand, and desolation, wow do you ever have to see the Sea! In addition to all that there’s Bombay Beach, an almost ghost that was revived as a quirky artist’s town, and Slab City, an “off the grid” settlement where people live for free. There’s lots of additional interesting art in Slab City as well as East Jesus, the eastern corner of the “squatters paradise.” I even did some research into one of the towns near the Salton Sea because I was inspired to use it for a locale in the book I’m writing. Such excitement from a place most people pass by without giving it a second thought! Is it any wonder why I choose to travel alone so often?

Didn’t I tell you that California has one of everything? Or, let’s make that more accurate: California has EVERYTHING!! Let me expand on that.

The post-graffiti part of my trip brought me to the Sierras, where the best ghost town in America nestles. No, Bodie isn’t in the desert, but it is at the end of a wild dirt road about twelve miles east of Bridgeport, California, and it is a state park, so there is a small fee (I paid $8) that goes to Bodie’s upkeep, which is impeccable. On the way I drove a few hundred miles of US 395, which I have to proclaim one of the country’s great highways. I stopped off in Lone Pine, which is still very much like the desert, and did a short and stunning hike to Mobius Arch in the Alabama Hills, where I also got a pretty special view of Mount Whitney, the highest point in the “lower 48” at 14, 505 feet. Did I mention that you can see Whitney through the arch, too? No, the thrills just never end.

Mono Lake and the Mono Basin are right outside Yosemite National Park. To me, Mono is so good it’s okay to skip Yosemite to see it. Don’t miss the short hike through the odd fantasy of the South Tufa Trail. You can bet that I didn’t!

Girl, take a breath…

The June Lake Loop is a sixteen mile drive around four lovely lakes at an elevation of 7,600 feet. Of course I had to get some hiking in here, and I encountered some bristlecone pines, that are said to be the oldest living things on Earth, even older than sequoias and redwoods. Even older than me! The loop was my last stop in the mountains before I headed back to the desert. I had to have one final jaunt in the hot sand before I came back to reality.

Death Valley Junction is the gateway to the park of the same name and a charming little desert hamlet with a hotel and opera house, much of which are beautifully hand painted by its former owner. Read her incredible backstory here. I’ve loved this town since I first saw it on a map as a dreamy-eyed teen, and it was so special to see it again before I moved on to Death Valley. Yes, I intended to hit the trails, but at 100 degrees at seven in the morning, I had to rethink my plans. Hiking had to be done in short bursts with plenty of time in the air conditioned SUV in between! Death Valley has been getting a lot of attention lately for record breaking temperatures, but the mercury varies greatly depending on what part of the park you’re in. I headed to Dante’s View to marvel at the salty Badwater Basin far below. It was twenty degrees cooler and with a hair-mussing wind. Lastly, no temperature was hot enough to make me miss wandering through the pastel hills of the Artist Palette. I felt like I’d fallen into a giant vat of ice cream!

Two weeks, a two thousand mile loop, and I just barely scratched the surface of the greatness of California. Oh well, looks like I’m just going to have to go back!

If This is the End

Maybe you picked up from my last post that my cancer is back, and with a vengeance. Well, it may be more accurate to say that it never really left. Stage IV disease kind of hangs around and wreaks more havoc just when you think that maybe you’ll be the lucky one and it won’t return.

Truth is, I kind of am a lucky one (in an unlucky situation) because I have some magic dust in my tumors that allows me to kill my cancer with a pill, at least until the pill doesn’t work anymore. Which means that if I didn’t tell you I had cancer you’d never know. I plod on and silently battle the killer. Some people go on for years this way. Me, a year and a half, and I just started on med number two after the first one gave out late in the nutty year of 2020. So far, so good, but this is not so different than walking a tight rope. You really don’t know when you’re going to topple off and not have a net to catch you. So you just say your prayers and hope for the best. Look forward, not down.

I’m in better shape than I was when I wrote that last post. The new damage is known and the new treatment has started to tackle it. But I’m having a damn hard time having to go back to where I was a year ago. Starting from scratch is really harrowing, because I was doing so well after round one. Still, the desire to get back to where I was before all this happened drives me on.

Will I get there? Maybe the answer isn’t as important as the fact that I was there once upon a time. When this all went down I had been living my best life for many years. Working hard, traveling hard, laughing hard, hiking hard. I didn’t have any money, because I spent most of it. I didn’t care. Still don’t. It was worth every penny. I visited forty countries, fifty states, forty-plus national parks in the United States, and several in other countries.

I confess to being a country hopper. See a place for a week, be the dreaded “tourist,” and come home to earn money for another week somewhere else in the world, on the next school vacation. Right now, someone out there is waving a finger at me and telling me that I can’t “know” someplace when I only get a little taste of it like I did of a million places. Imagine, spending your life telling someone else what they did wrong.

I confess too, to being a day hiker. Doing a great trail and sleeping in a hotel room after a nice shower while my fellow trekkers insist that hiking isn’t “real” if you don’t sleep in a tent under the stars. Funny, how we have to compete over such nonsense. The way I look at it, if I spend five days someplace really great and it’s the best damn five days of my life, then I add and multiply that several times, pretty soon I have something to reckon with: a life well spent.

I don’t want it to be over, but if this is the end, I’ve had a hell of a run. None of this magic was supposed to happen to the daughter of a janitor. This life that I’ve led was probably meant for someone else and I just happened to show up. Really? No, I lie. I busted my ass for all of it but never got any credit for it from any number of people. Always, I was doing something wrong and inconveniencing them in some way. No, I don’t want to look at your 17,500 pictures of red rocks. No, I don’t want to read your books. No, I don’t want to date you. No, you’re over the top. Stop dressing like that. Stop being so honest and in my face. And now, cancer survivor? You’re TOO MUCH, lady.

I’ve spent my life being rejected by men, by my family, and by people I wanted as my friends. The life I built was the life that accepted me as I was (and am.) Moving quickly enabled me to leave behind what and who I couldn’t have, no matter how hard I tried. I found my happy place. The world, my friends, is my oyster.

Someone out there is saying, she was running away from what she couldn’t have! Or maybe, running to what I could have? I like that better. What I could have was better. In the end, it always is.

Ehhh, maybe I deserve all this. Worked too hard. Laughed too hard. Traveled too hard. Hiked too hard. Guess what? I wouldn’t change a thing. And in my heart of hearts, my soul of souls, and my mind of minds, it ain’t over for me yet. I think I still have some fun left in me. Some miles and some words and some laughs and some thrills.

To anyone who has ever questioned exactly what I’m made of: Now you know. I will not lie down. I will not go quietly.

Surprise! I may have lost value to some the day I got cancer, but I still love life. So there.

My Sweet America

Hiking at Shenandoah National Park, Summer 2020. First national park hike after diagnosis.

I’d like to say Happy New Year and mean it.

I can’t, for a lot of different reasons, the least of which is that I have more cancer.

The least? Yes, really, that’s the way I feel. Like it’s low priority right now, maybe because I’ll be on a new medication soon that is probably going to work.

Yawn.

Huh?

Here’s what’s really bugging me: The state of our nation, the condition my sweet America is in right now. Yes, I’m taking this recent carnage in Washington, DC, personally. And the destruction caused by COVID19, too. Because me and America have a very intimate relationship, and now that I have a serious illness, there’s always that uncomfortable fact that my time is running out. I want to renew that love and I can’t, because of this devastating virus that so many aren’t taking seriously, and because, well, there’s some scary folks out there!

I am truly appalled at the latest news out of our nation’s capital. I was there years back after a nasty break up. One day, I did a ten mile loop that included many of the finest monuments. Another day, I took in the Capitol and the White House. The beautiful city held me in its noble arms as I sobbed and pined for long hoped-for love lost and took my mind off my many shortcomings. I want it there to go back to, for everyone to enjoy.

Our nation’s capitol, the way it should look

My love for America was not born out of flag waving and fist clenching, nor does it manifest itself as such. My relationship with her was nurtured by gripping her asphalt with four tires for thousands of miles, pounding her soil with hiking boots, and reveling in her natural mysteries that are slowly being dismantled. I’m very angry that narrow-minded, brainwashed individuals are carving messages in her sacred trees and believing that violence is the way to get what they want.

I’ve figured something out: these individuals will sacrifice treasured relationships to follow a man that could care less about them and will throw them under a moving bus the first chance he gets.

I’m not someone that seeks conflict. In fact, for the past four years I’ve stifled my opinion around certain friends and family to avoid just that. Four years? That’s a long time to keep quiet! Especially when these same friends and family are free as the proverbial bird to throw their views around whether anyone wants to hear them or not. But me? I have to bristle and keep my mouth shut so as not to incite them.

Well, guess what? I don’t care about that anymore. So here’s what I did.

Recently, I put three such relationships to the test by stating my opinion once. The data that follows from my experiment is not an exaggeration.

Relationship One: Ended in silence so deep that it lasted through my birthday, Christmas, New Years, and the bad news about my health, and is still going strong.

Relationship Two: Ended with “Have a nice life.” (Ironic, ya think?)

Relationship Three: Ended with a conspiracy theory and a claim that the deaths of 350,000 victims of COVID19 would have died of something else anyway.

To be fair, there was a fourth relationship involved that actually stood the test of my wrath. So there are some real human beings out there in nowhere land.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I just don’t know where we go from here. Unite under the new President? I wish we could. But the chance of that has been ruined by a bully that can’t lose or play fair. Some people have to screw things up for everyone if they don’t get their way. I have a lot more hope that I’ll keep winning against cancer than I do that My Sweet America will heal sometime soon.

I came across a perfect quote today, courtesy of Isaac Asimov: “When stupidity is considered patriotism, it is unsafe to be intelligent.”

Nevertheless, I’m dreaming of those four wheels on the payment. My soles in the soil. No mask on my face. And cancer not getting the best of me. That’s enough to ask for already, without hoping that others wake up, pay attention to what they’re doing, and seek a voice of reason instead of the battle cry of a madman.

There’s no pride in destruction, in acting on a lie bigger than any we’ve ever known. The world is watching us fall apart. Some are laughing, some are grimacing. But everyone saw it coming. It was the only end to this monotonous tale of greed, falsehood, and insanity.

Look at what we have become in the past four years, and please, let’s get back to the way we used to be before this nightmare happened. We weren’t perfect but let’s face it, anything is better than THIS.